


Partition

by catholicschoolgirl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Infidelity, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catholicschoolgirl/pseuds/catholicschoolgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Took 45 minutes to get all dressed up / We ain't even gonna make it to this club.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Partition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brittastyles (zaynlannister)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=brittastyles+%28zaynlannister%29).



> THANK GOD FOR BEYONCE.
> 
> Dedicated to Frida because she actually requested this, say what. Also shout outs to Emily, Crystal, and Brittany all for chiming in and saying that this was a necessity, because I fucking agree.

Harry just wanted to take care of Zayn, was the thing.

They'd all been wound up so tightly lately, so close to the end of year break that they could all taste it, but Zayn had been tenser than all of them, as usual. He always carried things differently than the rest of them, content to hold everything close to the chest until it was too much to handle, then exploding, typically in fantastic fashion. Harry wanted to avoid all of that, wanted to see if there was a cleaner way of dealing with everything.

They were heading out, some club that Harry had already forgotten the name of, to indulge in a night of loud music and alcohol in the VIP section, all five of them for once. It was never the same as being in the throng of it all, losing yourself in the crowd and the beat, but eh, at least they were getting to go out.

It took Harry ages to get ready tonight for some reason, fingers not cooperating as he tried to tame his hair and pick out an outfit. Liam had come into his room in a vain effort to get him to move faster – “Even Louis is done already, it's just a club, Harry” – but it was like Harry knew that he needed to take his time tonight. Guarantee everything was just right as he managed to get his hair to curl the way it used to without any fuss, grabbing one of his sheerer button-downs and pulling on a pair of jeans over his bare flesh as he grabbed his keys and wallet and headed out.

The stars aligned and Niall, Liam, and Louis were piled into one car while Zayn and Harry were herded into the other. They ran into traffic as soon as they pulled out of the hotel's parking lot and Zayn sighed, banging his head on the window as though he was already regretting his decision to go out. He looked like he hadn't put any effort into this excursion, either – his hair was unstyled underneath his backwards Bulls snapback, and he had on a pair of jeans and an oversized tank top that Harry was pretty sure was Liam's. Harry put a hand on Zayn's thigh, rubbing consolingly.

“It's just a bit of traffic,” Harry said.

“Whatever,” Zayn mumbled, pulling his phone out of his pocket and groaning. Harry deftly picked the iPhone out of Zayn's grasp and somehow managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the series of text messages from Perrie. Harry didn't understand, couldn't bother to understand, and would never put in the effort to understand, so they just didn't talk about it. The other boys had known about the engagement pretty much as soon as it happened, but Harry figured out just as the fans did – at the premiere. Harry tried not to read too much into that. Figures that she was part of the reason why Zayn was so tense, though. Zayn was probably homesick, boo hoo. Harry used to know how to get that tension out, remembered days in Australia and then in Miami where Harry managed to unravel Zayn, peeling away the mask, managed to bite and suck the unease away. Harry hadn't tried since the engagement, had been too put off by the whole idea to try and pull Zayn again, but he was pretty sure that something like what they had didn't go away with a ring and some good intentions.

Harry placed Zayn's phone in the holder on the door and laid his hand back on Zayn's thigh, slowly guiding his hand higher. It was all so familiar, this old game of gay chicken they all used to play, until Zayn and Harry took it too far, because that's what they do.

“Harry,” Zayn started, licking his lips and watching the trajectory of Harry's fingers. “What are you doing?”

“I just wanna be the boy you like best,” Harry answered, grinning into Zayn's face and ignoring the ping of incoming text messages on Zayn's phone. “Or maybe if I were a girl, I would be?”

“Driver, can you roll up the partition?” Zayn called, clamping his hand on top of Harry's where it had finally reached the zipper of Zayn's jeans. The driver obliged, Harry and Zayn watching the glass barrier go up with eyes already clouding with arousal.

“What are you doing?” Zayn repeated. It was too easy. Zayn was always too easy.

Harry mirrored Zayn's earlier gesture, licking his lips slowly before crawling off the seat and positioning himself between Zayn's legs on the floor, parting them with hands that had never forgotten the feel of Zayn's skin. “Good thinking, about the partition. I always forget about it. Driver probably doesn't need to see me on my knees.” Harry ran his fingers over the sensitive skin over Zayn's ankle, reveling in Zayn's sharp intake of breath. “I just want to take care of you.”

“Well you remember how,” Zayn mumbled. “Get to it, peaches.”

Harry hummed at the term of endearment, a joke from an easier time, taking both hands and scratching along the fabric of Zayn's jeans before unzipping Zayn's fly. Zayn bucked his hips, shoving his jeans down and pawing at his dick through his Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

“No,” Harry commanded, swatting Zayn's hand away. “Let me.”

Zayn was only a few steps away from flaccid when Harry pulled his boxers down, shoving them around Zayn's knees, but Harry didn't mind, spitting on Zayn's shaft and smearing his spit with clever hands before taking Zayn into his mouth, reveling in the familiar smell of Zayn's musk. There was nothing more satisfying, Harry felt, than sucking a guy from flaccid to hardness, feeling Zayn swell within the confines of his mouth and thinking, “Yeah, _I_ did that.” Harry pulled off once Zayn was fully erect, taking a moment to marvel at Zayn's cock, thick and cut, still as gorgeous and mouthwatering as he remembered.

“It isn't anything you haven't seen before,” Zayn said breathlessly. “Harry, _please_.”

“We aren't even going to make it to the club, are we?” Harry asked, still staring at Zayn's dick.

“Depends,” Zayn answered. “Are you gonna let me come on that nice shirt of yours?”

Harry looked down at his shirt, considering. He couldn't remember where he got it, but he was sure someone could find him another one if it got ruined, if he even cared. “Yeah, 'course.”

“Come here then,” Zayn growled, reaching into Harry's hair and sinking soft fingers into Harry's curls – curls he had spent forever agonizing over – fingers that pulled hard at the root as Zayn leaned forward and crashed their mouths together, teeth clashing and far too much spit, but it was so much more than what Harry had gotten in recent months. Harry nipped at Zayn's bottom lip while bringing his hand to Zayn's dick, smearing the precum budding at the tip down his shaft.

“I've got a piece of candy and it's all for you,” Zayn quoted when he pulled away from the kiss, grinning like the idiot he was. Harry groaned.

“Are you seriously referencing that awful Justin Bieber song?” Harry asked, falling back onto his haunches but not stilling his hand where it moved rhythmically over Zayn. “Were you honestly thinking about that while I was sucking you off?”

Zayn shrugged. “It seemed applicable. You know you love my lolly, you wanna kiss the top.”

Harry laid his head over Zayn's thighs. “Why do I like you again?”

“Cuz I'm gonna fuck your brains out once we get out of this car,” Zayn whispered. “Now get back to it, babe.”

Harry groaned, palming himself through his own jeans as he sunk his mouth back onto Zayn's dick, humming around him. Zayn cursed lowly, carding his hands back through Harry's hair and gathering it away from Harry's face to better watch him, running his fingers along Harry's cheek when Harry pressed Zayn's cock against the pocket there.

“Fuck you look so good,” Zayn mumbled. “I want to fucking ruin you.”

Harry moaned, his way of goading Zayn into not just talking about it but actually fucking _doing it_ , and placed his arms behind his back, crossing his wrists, trying to relax his throat before taking a deep breath and pushing himself further onto Zayn's dick until his nose brushed against Zayn's pubic hair and he could feel the tip of Zayn's cock pressing against the fluttering start of his throat. Zayn was babbling incoherently above him and Harry pulled off slowly, moving his tongue in zig-zagging motions across the thick vein on the underside and sucking on the head before sinking back down.

“Gonna fuck your face now,” Zayn warned, tightening his grip in Harry's hair before doing just as he promised, thrusting shallowly down Harry's throat. Harry couldn't help the moans that bubbled up around Zayn's cock, straining to keep his arms behind his back, struggling not to reach forward and tend to his own dick where it was now leaking precome and staining his jeans. But Zayn was close – Harry could tell he was. He was wound too tight, and now he was going to feel better, all because of Harry's mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Zayn chanted and then he was pulling out of Harry's mouth, manhandling Harry into his lap and then shoving Harry's back against the seat. Zayn clambered over him, grabbing at Harry's shirt and ripping off some of the buttons before positioning himself over Harry's crotch, Harry going a bit cross-eyed at the small thrill of friction. Zayn's hand was almost a blur where he was working himself over and Harry licked his lips at the sight, storing away the image for future wankbank material. Zayn came, pulling this beautiful, tortured face like his orgasm was wretched out of him, and thick streams of come splattered over Harry's top and his bared skin, wetting the antenna of his moth tattoo and splattering across one of his birds.

“Oh fuck,” Zayn mumbled, collapsing against the backseat and staring at Harry with wide eyes. “Shit, Harry. Do you have a flannel?”

Harry just looked at Zayn. “Where would I have stashed a flannel?” he asked before reaching behind himself to grab Zayn's phone out of the holder in the door. “Oh, here you can have your phone back.”

Zayn caught Harry's shitty underhand throw and scowled a bit at his phone before lying it on the seat next to him. “Let's just go back to the hotel and I'll take care of that hard-on for you.”

Harry shrugged and Zayn used the backseat phone to tell the driver to just turn around back to the hotel. They had to get up to their rooms through the kitchen, Harry's shirt was ruined, and the other boys would be pissed once they realized Harry and Zayn weren't coming to the club, but Zayn was in better spirits than he had been in ages and the promise of _more_ was buoying Harry more than anything had in recent months. Harry had done a good job, he thought later, sprawled across Zayn's bed, fucked out and pliant, Zayn passed out beside him. He took good care of Zayn. He always would.


End file.
